


The Color of My True Love's Hair

by IdrisTardis7878



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff, just a little feelsy ficlet, merintosh, random musings on merida's abundance of hair, still merintrash after all these years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisTardis7878/pseuds/IdrisTardis7878
Summary: Macintosh muses on the beauty of Merida's hair in different seasons and settings. Just a little bit of feelsy fluff.





	The Color of My True Love's Hair

He’s never fancied himself a poet – always feeling more at home wielding his sword or bow than attempting flowery words and courtly gestures. He knows his strengths, and the gift of fine speech has never been among them.

But  _now_? Now he finds himself wanting to try – adjectives and metaphors crowding his brain and clamoring for so much attention he often can hardly think straight.

All because of one lass’  _hair_  – of all the things to turn him into a sodding fool.

( _But_ , the stubborn voice in his head insists,  _that’s not just **any**  lass and you damn well know it_).

He’s fascinated by it, by  _her_ , and it draws his attention more and more as time passes and they grow closer.

He’s captivated when the midsummer sun sets her abundant curls ablaze like a corona of flame around her head, framing the proud jut of her chin and only overmatched by the determined fire in her eyes.

He’s charmed when she winds up with autumn leaves tangled in her locks after her brothers playfully tackle her into a pile of them, her laughter ringing out across the glade and bringing a smile to his own face.

He’s dazzled in the winter, the long quiet hours on the Southern border spent keeping watch by her side made infinitely more pleasant by his ability to observe the way the snowflakes nestle deep into her tresses, softening the curls and making her look years younger but no less fierce.

He’s besotted by springtime, when a garland of roses has replaced her usual silver crown, the creamy white of the petals arcing regally across her brow. Their contrast with the auburn is striking, and he thinks she’s never been more beautiful than she is in that moment, as they stand before the priest and pledge themselves to one another.

( _Though that is a lie – as the next moment proves, and the next, and the next, and the next…_ )

On their wedding night, he sees her curled up in front of the fire – for spring can still carry a chill in Dunbroch – wrapped in naught but his ceremonial plaid, her abundant hair in an unruly tumble over her bare shoulders. It’s when she gazes back at him with the same wonderstruck expression he realizes must be on his own face, that he  _knows_  she’s never been lovelier.

He still doesn’t have the words to tell her so – but thankfully, he knows she understands him anyway.


End file.
